


Purple Princess

by wheel_pen



Series: Darkwood Eastport [17]
Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fish out of Water, Magic, Polygamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plans are made for Laura’s birthday—with a purple princess theme, naturally—and Ria learns some family secrets about Laura and Cal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple Princess

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe. I’ve given a lot of thought to the Darkwood culture, so if something seems confusing, feel free to ask. I hope you enjoy!

_Winter, end of year one before Christmas_

A shadow briefly covered Laura’s drawing, then cleared as her father sat down beside her at the little table. “Hello,” Cal greeted.

“Hello!” Laura responded brightly, continuing to work on her drawing. It was—oh so surprising—a variation on her usual purple princess palace.

“Can I help you color?” Cal asked her solicitously, watching her expression as she considered this idea.

Finally she seemed to decide that he wouldn’t do _too_ much damage to her masterpiece. “You can color the sky,” she allowed, handing him a green crayon and pointing to the upper right corner of the picture.

“Thanks.” He set about trying to fill in the green sky, which he feared would make it look like a tornado was about to engulf the purple princess palace. “So… You’ve got a birthday coming up,” Cal remarked neutrally. Interestingly, Laura’s first response was one of anxiety, he noted. She probably thought he was going to talk to her again about working more on her lessons. “What would you like for your birthday?” he asked instead, and she relaxed.

“A Lovely Lavender Dream Home,” she responded promptly. “It’s three stories high and it has an elevator and working lights!”

Cal didn’t understand how the children found out such things existed in the world—they didn’t watch TV or receive toy catalogs in the mail. Perhaps they talked to children who _did_ during their play groups and social gatherings. “Well, you’d have to share the Lavender Dream House with the others,” he warned her.

“The sky’s not _there_ , Daddy,” Laura told him in irritation, correcting his horizon.

“Sorry.”

She continued drawing an elaborate vine up one tower of the palace. “Well… I guess I could share with Sophia,” she allowed.

That was hardly a sacrifice, as Sophia was barely a year older and nearly as entranced by sparkly, girly things as Laura was. “What about with Caroline?” Cal prodded. “And Lucia?”

“They break things!” Laura protested hotly, smearing a blood-red flower on her vine.

“Oh, they don’t mean to,” Cal assured her.

“They broke Mermaid Princess Barbie!” Laura reminded him, the indignation still ripe in her voice. “They broke her tail off!”

“We got that fixed, though, didn’t we?” Cal soothed.

“She leaks now,” Laura muttered darkly.

Her father struggled not to chuckle. “What else would you like?” he asked, distracting her from thoughts of broken toys. “Some new clothes for Princess Kiki, maybe?”

“Yes, Princess Kiki needs a new dress,” Laura agreed matter-of-factly. “And shoes and a crown and a pony.”

“A pony?” Cal replied. This was a new element. “Do they make ponies for Princess Kiki?”

“Yes,” Laura assured him. He made a mental note to check with Gillian about horses for American Girl dolls. Any appropriately-sized toy horse would do, he supposed.

“D’you want a party, for your birthday?” he probed, though the answer was obvious.

“Yes. I want a purple princess party!” Shocking.

**

Ria found Gillian unpacking a large cardboard box in one of the parlors that looked out on the snowy backyard—the Green Parlor, which was decorated in an eclectic but harmonious mix of seafoam and hunter, with a tugboat motif thrown in for added interest. Gillian had taken the nautical theme of their new home very seriously.

“What are you working on?” Ria asked curiously, settling herself down on the couch next to her wife. The bulky sweater she wore to keep warm these days _almost_ disguised the bulge of her belly, which as usual she felt was too big, even for six months. Hungrily she snitched a cracker from the plate Gillian had set out for herself.

“Take a guess,” Gillian replied dryly, and Ria surveyed the items that had already been removed from the box.

“Purple princess plates, purple princess cups, purple princess napkins,” Ria noted. The theme was depressingly obvious. “There’s even purple tableware!”

“And purple balloons, and purple streamers, and a purple princess banner,” Gillian added, checking the items carefully off her list.

“Purple princess overload,” Ria sighed, leaning back against the couch. She had never really understood the ‘princess’ fascination herself—why little girls aspired to be someone whose parents married her off to an old stranger in a foreign country, who got her head chopped off if she didn’t produce a male heir. But Ria had always been more of the athletic type anyway, and you didn’t see a lot of tiaras on the soccer field.

“And look at these!” Gillian insisted, pulling out bags of what looked like stickers, yo-yos, mini coloring books and crayons, and other assorted trinkets in various shades of pink and purple, all dusted with glitter. “They’re for the favor bags. Which I thought we could use _these_ for.” She produced another packet from the box, this one stuffed with purple tote bags. “I thought the girls could write their names on them and decorate them with this fabric paint. That went over well at Louisa’s party, didn’t you think?”

“Mmm,” Ria replied noncommittally. She had spent most of Louisa’s party helping to entertain the younger kids in another part of the yard, so they wouldn’t bother the birthday girl and her friends. “What are we having to eat at the party?” she asked instead. Menus were what seemed to interest her the most these days. She grabbed another handful of crackers.

“There’s going to be a purple cake shaped like a crown that Mrs. Bodey will make for us, and also purple punch,” Gillian replied with satisfaction. “And some jamwiches with purple icing and grape jelly, and some purple candy, and also purple grapes.”

Hungry though she always was at the moment, the list made Ria’s stomach hurt. “Well, at least there’s fruit,” she offered weakly.

If Gillian noticed the younger woman’s lack of whole-hearted enthusiasm, she didn’t comment on it. “I think I’m going to wrap presents tomorrow,” she decided. “Do you want to help?”

“Sure,” Ria agreed, because what else could she say? “Are you giving her those clothes we bought?” Fearing the harshness of their first New England winter, Cal had sent them off to buy supplies, including gifts, way back in September, in case the weather had prevented travel later in the season. It hadn’t been quite that bad so far—Cal was comparing it to Scandinavia, after all—but it was still helpful to not have to run out for every little thing. Although it meant that Ria tended to forget what had already been purchased.

“I’m giving her _some_ of the clothes,” Gillian replied, counting a stack of princess-wand-decorating kits. “I thought I would save the rest for Christmas. And there’s the dollhouse, of course—that’s for _all_ the girls, really—and some accessories and clothes for her doll.” Gillian frowned as she looked at her list. “I really hope that toy horse gets here in time, I didn’t expect her to ask for _that_. And there’s several things from the Valley that came on the last ship—I’m tempted to open them before Laura does and see what they are first.” She rolled her eyes. “Remember last year when Amelia gave her _thank you cards_ as a gift?”

“Well, she _is_ getting to be old enough to send them herself,” Ria ventured. She saw Gillian’s half-smile as the other woman sorted through bags of plastic jewelry. “What? Wait, let me guess, favorites don’t send thank you cards, right?”

“Not in my experience,” Gillian confirmed, unoffended by the disapproval in Ria’s tone.

“This whole ‘favorites’ thing is just ridiculous,” Ria went on, predictably in Gillian’s opinion. “I mean, look at all this stuff!” She gestured towards the box with its coordinated wholesale party goods.

“ _All_ parties have been more elaborate in America,” Gillian pointed out.

Well, true, but—“And all the presents!” Ria continued. “You can’t say _that’s_ the same for everyone. Laura gets _lots_ of toys that no one expects her to share.” Most gifts given to Darkwood children were understood to belong to the whole family—the board game, block set, or craft kit was supposed to be something the recipient could use and enjoy (no baby toys for preteens, for example, or delicate dolls for a rough-and-tumble boy), but in no way was it considered theirs and theirs alone. Maybe they’d get one or two non-clothing items for their sole use every year—a special stuffed animal, a customizable electronic device—but that was it.

Unless they were the favorite, of course. Then they got _showered_ with individual gifts from their parents, especially their mother.

Ria didn’t mean to complain about it all the time—she figured Gillian _had_ to get tired of it, especially because she didn’t agree that it was a bad thing—but the practice seemed absurdly indulgent, especially in a social system that was so concerned with balance and harmony among members. Ria had grown up with nothing, after all, and though she was glad her children would never have to struggle like she had, she was also wary of spoiling them, of making their lives _too_ easy. In most things her spouses agreed with her, and many times Cal was far stricter than Ria would have been. But again, there was this one, glaring exception that made no sense whatsoever.

“Is she going to start her lessons anytime soon?” Ria prodded, spotting a hint of irritation on Gillian’s features finally. This was a sore point, as most children turning seven were nearly all the way through their Pink levels and starting several Reds, while Laura was still scribbling away in pre-Pink, First Dawn books designed to help toddlers learn their shapes. _If_ you could even get her to touch something that so obviously resembled educational material.

“She’ll start when she’s ready,” Gillian answered, the standard reply she and Cal had memorized.

“Sophia’s all the way into Orange,” Ria reminded her wife, who probably knew the record just as well if not better, “and Yellow in Reading, Art, and Music. Laura’s only going to fall farther behind.” Ria had hoped that the disappearance of Laura’s constant companion from the nursery playroom into the elementary classroom would spur the younger girl into academic action, but that hadn’t been the case so far.

“Well, it’s not as if she really needs to hurry,” Gillian remarked matter-of-factly, testing one of the fabric paints on an extra tote bag. She seemed, to Ria, far more concerned about the paint’s tendency to glob than her daughter’s educational future—when education was normally something highly valued in this family of four PhD’s.

“Right, I forgot, favorites don’t get married, either,” Ria replied sarcastically. “And I just don’t understand because I don’t have enough kids yet,” she went on, having heard that line far too many times in the past. “When I’ve had seven or eight or ten, I’ll have my own randomly-chosen favorite to spoil and stay with me forever.” Ria knew she was being a little rude, but Gillian never seemed bothered by that; she put up with Cal well enough, after all. There was no more irritation visible in Gillian’s expression as she continued to test the fabric paint, just a slight smile that Ria wasn’t sure how to interpret. “I mean, I know you’re just following tradition—“

“Favorites aren’t random,” Gillian said, looking up at her.

Ria blinked. “What? What do you mean?”

“Think about all the favorites you know of,” Gillian suggested patiently. “What do they have in common?”

“Well, they’re all younger kids, and never adopted,” Ria reasoned. That didn’t seem particularly significant to her, though—Darkwood society had a strong emphasis on hierarchy, with the oldest children of each mother considered a bit more important, socially, than the younger, and thus the elder ones tended to be under more pressure to marry and have children. By the time you got down to the youngest kids, their parents were less worried about that and thus were more likely to be okay with the child never marrying. But Gillian was shaking her head at this reasoning.

“No, no, favorites are…” She paused in her experimenting, staring off into space as she tried to find the right words. “Well—they’re the kids who have something wrong with them,” she finally said bluntly. “That’s what people say, anyway.”

“ _What?!_ ” Ria exclaimed, having never heard this idea before. She had never been comfortable hanging out with the Darkwood ladies in the Valley, at least the ones Gillian knew; now she was beginning to realize the kind of conversations she’d missed out on. “What are you _talking_ about? There’s nothing wrong with Laura.”

Gillian’s expression said that Ria was woefully unobservant, but at least it said that more kindly than Cal’s would have. “Her _skin_ ,” she finally pointed out, though the hint didn’t explain much to the younger woman. “It’s so pale, she really has no protection against the sun at all,” she went on, easily seeing that Ria didn’t follow her. “That terrible burn she got just after we moved here? She was even a little red from going out to lunch with Cal a couple months ago, when it was so cloudy.”

Ria shook her head, uncomprehending. “But that’s only a problem on unprotected land,” she protested. “If we still lived in the Valley, there wouldn’t be anything wrong at all!”

Gillian went back to her art project. “Even in the Valley, even here, it takes more energy to protect her from the sun,” she revealed. “I don’t like to force her to stay inside right now, but when she’s older she might have to, just to stay safe.”

Ria stared at her wife, who seemed so calm as she relayed this information, with only a hint of sadness escaping through her eyes. “I didn’t know that,” she finally admitted, though that much was obvious. Ria had never been entirely clear on the specifics of energy use anyway, and since she wasn’t the First Lady she’d never been called upon to monitor it. But her temper started to flare as she realized something else—that one of the children in her family, one of _her_ children in a very real sense, was apparently not doing very well, and _no one_ had told her about it. “Why didn’t—“

Gillian knew what she was going to ask and cut her off. “Cal doesn’t like to talk about it,” she explained. “Everyone knows she can’t go outside on unprotected land, but he didn’t really want them to know how serious it was. He doesn’t want _Laura_ to know.”

Ria rolled her eyes, a million useless retorts on the tip of her tongue. Cal and his little games, always thinking he knew best. Well, as head of the family, it was his job to _act_ for the best, but she didn’t know of any other clan leaders who manipulated their spouses and children in quite the same way. He would just have said there was no reason for Ria to know yet, that it would have just worried her or made her treat Laura differently. Or whatever other excuse he thought up on the spot, as she was certain she hadn’t merited an actual _planned_ exclusion. “This is so ridiculous,” was all she could come up with to say, in the end.

Gillian smiled. “Cal says, with such high production volume, there’s bound to be a few duds now and then,” she repeated, with amusement.

“Yes, that’s just about the level of sensitivity I’d expect from him,” Ria replied acidly.

Gillian continued smiling and glanced at Ria. “Perhaps you didn’t know… Cal was Amelia’s favorite.”

Ria felt her eyes widen precipitously for the second—or was it the third?—time during this conversation. “ _Cal_?! _Cal_ was a favorite? There is _nothing wrong_ with Cal!” She felt she could assert this even more strongly than with Laura. She saw Gillian’s look. “What’s wrong with Cal?” Ria demanded, still not really believing anything could be.

“His _walk_ ,” Gillian told her, shaking her head at her wife’s lack of understanding.

“Well…” Okay, so Cal _did_ have kind of a funny walk, but it wasn’t _that_ funny. He didn’t waddle or even limp. It was more of a swagger, really. “He walks like a sailor,” Ria insisted. “He walks like Franco.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Gillian countered. “Anyway, he’s _always_ walked like that. He can’t help it. Something’s—not aligned right.”

“They can’t just fix it?” Clearly not, Gillian’s look said. But Ria had seen far worse injuries and illnesses healed by the Valley. “I don’t understand,” she confessed.

Gillian shrugged unhelpfully. “Nobody does. Just sometimes, there’s something wrong that can’t be fixed. So parents try to make up for it.” She chose a new color of paint. “And there’s so many people who don’t have anything wrong at all, they know no one will want to marry the people who _do_. So they keep them at home and tell them to work on their hobbies, and that’s where they tend to stay.”

“That’s _terrible_ ,” Ria said after a moment. “It’s _horrible_. There’s—I mean, Cal’s not in pain from it. Is he?” she asked uncertainly.

“Not that he’s mentioned.” And he _would_ mention it.

“And he can— _run_ and everything just fine,” Ria added, half questioning.

“He can.”

“Well there’s nothing really _wrong_ , then!” Ria insisted. “It just _looks_ different! It doesn’t look _perfect_. And for _that_ his parents decided he shouldn’t ever get married? You know, if we’re just going by looks, Beatrix always had that _nose_. And Edgar is completely insane but he has, what, seven wives?”

Gillian chuckled at the characterization of her in-laws. “Well perhaps, given those choices, Amelia thought she’d rather have Cal around in her old age, personality-wise.”

“I think you saved him from a fate worse than death,” Ria deadpanned, before they both broke up giggling. “But—wow, no wonder Amelia doesn’t like you very much,” she went on. “You took her favorite away.”

“Sad but true,” Gillian agreed, and Ria could see she really _was_ sad about it. Amelia had taken her in as a sponsor when Gillian had come to the Valley as a teenager too old to adopt, and Ria had heard her say before how well Amelia had treated her—at least for the first couple years, until Cal came home from college on a visit. Once the two of them had set eyes on each other, that was it—which Ria could easily imagine. It wouldn’t matter that he was older, it wouldn’t matter that they could, in some sense, be considered siblings, and it certainly wouldn’t matter that Cal was supposed to stay single at his parents’ side for the rest of his life. At least, it wouldn’t matter to _them_. Ria had seen with her own eyes that Amelia still hadn’t gotten over it.

“I thought he was engaged before, though,” Ria ventured. She was learning so much about the family today she figured she might as well probe for more. “To—er—what’s-her-name.” Cal had come complete with multiple scandals: almost no one in the Valley broke an engagement.

“Zoe,” Gillian supplied. Ria searched her face for a hint about her feelings, but Gillian was almost as good at hiding her emotions as Cal. Sometimes Ria was glad Eli never bothered to conceal anything—she didn’t need _another_ enigma in her life. “Amelia didn’t like _her_ , either,” Gillian went on. “Before I ever met Cal Amelia would tell me stories about this evil woman who tried to steal her favorite away.”

“Ouch,” Ria sympathized, seeing who the evil woman was supposed to be _now_. “Do you think Amelia—I don’t know, did something to split them up, or—“

“They split themselves up,” Gillian countered, surveying the design she’d made on the bag. “They fought all the time—fought and made up, fought and made up. At least that’s what Cal says,” she added with a smirk. “Who knows what _she_ would say?”

Ria thought that was a good point—honesty was a tricky thing when it came to memories of relationships, even with someone as aware of the difficulties as Cal. “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen you and Cal argue,” Ria commented after a long moment of thought.

“Why bother?” said a new voice from the doorway, and both women looked up to see Cal lounging there, arms crossed over his chest nonchalantly. Ria wondered how long he’d been there and went back over her words wildly, looking for anything incriminating. “It’s just easier to do everything Gillian wants.”

It _would_ have been a hoary joke, but as near as Ria could figure, that _was_ actually how things worked. Fortunately Gillian tended to be fairly content with her lot—she could easily have Cal dancing on the end of a string day and night, Ria decided.

“Come see what I made you,” Gillian instructed with girlish delight, and Cal crossed the room to the couch. Ria watched every step, conscious of his irregular movements in a way she hadn’t been before. He perched on the arm of the couch beside Gillian and she held up the purple tote bag she’d been doodling on. “Don’t touch it, it’s still wet.”

Ria hadn’t really paid attention to the design Gillian was making before, but now she saw the word ‘Cal’ splashed across the purple canvas in pale pink, loopy letters. “Oh, that’s very _me_ ,” Cal deadpanned. “Especially with all the flowers, and the little butterfly. You know, we were _this_ close to being ‘Orange Butterfly.’”

Truth was _so_ subjective, Ria suddenly thought, frustratingly so. If she were in Gillian’s position right now, would Cal really say those same words with less sweet and more sour in the tone, or would she just _hear_ them that way?

Cal was looking over the box of purple princess birthday supplies, seemingly oblivious to Ria’s disquiet. “So who’s party is coming up again?” he teased. “Luke’s? Patrick’s? James’s? Well, no, it really _could_ be James, couldn’t it?” Gillian admonished him for his comment, though not very severely. Suddenly he glanced over at Ria, possibly for the first time. “Why don’t you come with me,” he suggested, and she had to look up to make sure he really meant _her_. “Let’s go watch some TV.”

“I don’t like watching TV,” Ria reminded him, nonetheless eager to let him help her up.

“Well, let’s go watch a book, then,” he countered flippantly. He slid his arm around her waist and guided her towards the door. Ria tried to be more like Gillian would have, content just to be with Cal without questioning his motives. But that really wasn’t her personality—sooner or later she would have to ask him about Laura, _and_ about being a favorite. That was just her nature.


End file.
